


the demimonde

by kalypsobean



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan is always partway in that world between, but choosing to live there isn't the easiest decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the demimonde

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evandar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/gifts).



He can't say what raises his hackles about the circus, especially here and now; while it is not home, exactly, it remains the closest thing to a safe place that he has. The people don't judge him for what he is or is not, and they stay away from him as much as possible, out of both their own desire for privacy and respect for his. If part of it is that they are wary of him, that some part of his lineage or his nature is occasionally at fault for the way the girls shy away from him, or if it is the knowledge that his draw is faster, more direct, that keeps the men from approaching him; he finds in himself no desire to change it. There is a peace in it, his existence the way it is, though he never quite fits as seamlessly as he had previously known. It is an existence with small pleasures which distract him from the larger disquiet, not entirely a life, but he has lived long enough to know that even an infrequent sense of wholeness is not to go unvalued. 

 

Here, though, where the land itself feels different, where the ground is soft beneath his feet and the dust doesn't rise to cloud his path, it is as if there is some kind of elemental energy that both repels him and draws him in, as if it can't decide what to do with him. He chooses to keep his trailer in the trees, where there are shadows to hide in, and in some manner, he feels more at home there, away from the rest of the wagons and those who would seek him out for unbridled pleasures far from prying eyes and unconcerned if they were pursued or the pursuer. It feels more natural, there, where the ground was mostly undisturbed and he could determine only by smell what was around him; it gave him control, a thing which sometimes he lacked, and wished for. He could tell, before he chose where his wagon would rest, where there would be grass for the horse. He could close his eyes and touch the damp leaves, reaching out around him with his senses, and feel that he was close to a warren, that further in, a pack roamed unchallenged, that ages before any of them, there had been magic done here. He had felt it once before, when he had been the one wandering without aim, learning from the land what it was that made him feel restless and unsatisfied with the privilege they pulled from him.

 

He was not surprised, therefore, when she came to him, her manner cultured and her eyes both shielded and deep, for the land had told him that he had a purpose long before he had donned his wig and his hat and set out to continue as if there was no foreboding upon him.

 

He can't say why he stays, even though it's the first time he's felt he's belonged in a long while. Though in his life are many things which are curious to him, indeed, but at the same time, there are things which stifle him - the sameness, the narrowing of his world, as while the surroundings changed, never seeing the same face twice. It is hard, in the city, to feel what the land says; it is difficult to find a place where the can feel as if the world is open to him and yet, in its infinite maze of buildings, the mix of smells both decaying and alive, it is easier to hide than ever it has been. There is a different kind of peace; he finds himself without restlessness for there is so much around him that the hustle seeps into his skin and calms the animal that forced him on his journey, the part of him that kept him looking for something he could not name. It quiets, settling in his chest as if surrounding his heart to protect it from the rawness of having others to protect, as if it is saying that he is where all the experiences and dreary repetition come to an end, and with it comes a family to replace the one he lost, haphazard and broken, but with a space for him. They too, would not judge him, would not intrude on him, though they saw him for more than he was and forced him to stretch those same muscles that were at rest around them. 

He does not know if he can stay; if he leaves the circus, they will not take him back, for the betrayal would be too much. They rely on him to bring in the crowds, to spin his tale and lure from them their coin, allured by a fantasy of something even he cannot have. 

 

There is some time for him to dally; the wagons travel by road, and in the rain they are slow and easily separated. Though he is closer to the space between worlds, than perhaps those who speak of it realise, he cannot settle on its edge without knowing that all who are drawn into its shadowy orbit enough that he can understand them, that he can say with surety what is inside them and whether they will turn on him. It is not enough that his curiosity is sparked, or that the world in which they draw him towards is has many parallels to that in which he was raised. If that were all, he would accept it all, a bed and nights inside, dry even when the skies are dark and they are open; he would welcome discourse with people educated and raised much like he was, and he would settle for adventures under cover of night without having to forge them in lies by day.

He hesitates not because of the danger, or the otherness of the world they move through, buried within a city where darkness and rain seem to shield people from seeing the truth. He does not hesitate in the knowledge that he is would be standing on the edge with no recognition, no cheering crowds or rewards. The stillness, the heaviness of that last step, is in that he has one refuge, and he would be leaving all he knew; he would be tearing down the walls he made to keep away those who would fear him, and in the world they called him to, he would not be able to rebuild them. 

 

The decision, such as it is, is made without conscious thought; there is no moment that he goes from being unsure to being certain, from sleeping on the coast to finding lodgings. These are gradual changes, as the circus moves further away and his lifeline with it. There are still many lines where he treads on the edge; he crosses from neat parlours to the streets where dirt and grime settle faster than they can be washed away, and his nights differ vastly from the days. He moves from being called and dismissed to being in the shadows, moving in and out of their orbit as if he knew when he would be needed and when his time was his own. 

It was only when he knew them by their smell before he saw them that he was content not to follow the wagons on, that though he did not yet feel settled, he was able to feel the wolf in his heart as a warmth, one that was both welcome and strong. It was when Victor Frankenstein, the doctor with no time for their need of him and yet all the time in the world, smelled like another man, the scent so close as if it belonged to someone so close it was as if it was one made by his own hand from his rib the way Eve came from Adam, and he was not cast aside, though in the mornings the scent was so strong that it couldn't be mistaken for less, and an aura as if he had shared more than a lodging. 

If they were not to be rejected for the unconventional between them, for their dance around each other as if they were drawn to each other and repelled in the same way that he was drawn both to and from the land, as if the future was still laying all their paths; there was a chance that he would remain welcome if his elemental nature was unmasked, unleashed and allowed free, even if it were unneeded.

**Author's Note:**

> I was drawn to this request as part of it was whether Ethan smelled anything on Frankenstein's skin. It turned much more into Ethan's story than that, but that was where it started and I'm grateful to Evendar for the chance to get to know Ethan a little better.


End file.
